X: Results: Payoff

Alright, folks. Everyone showed up! Yippee!

This one was hard. You all knew that already. Paying off an existing story is difficult enough, but matching tone and language – something I really hoped to see – is even harder. I’m glad everyone rose to the challenge, because more than ever, I would have felt badly for you guys if you’d put this much work into a week where you could have skated by.

Some were definitely more successful than others this week, but everyone smacked of great effort, and I couldn’t be more excited about it. This season’s finally headed for a great finish. I say this in part because I gave five twos, but I didn’t feel there were any bad ideas…some were just out-executed by others on a pretty large scale.

Who likes stats? You do!

Who was paid off:

Beau, Brooks: 3 payoffs
Zack: 2 payoffs
David, Will, Colin, Matt, Andy, John: 1 payoff

I correctly predicted that nobody would choose Pete’s. Too damned intimidating. Any payoff would have just deadened the impact.

Let’s get at it.

Zack Sauvageau, nibbish and his Vogons

My payoff is to follow Brooks’s story.

Gerald felt panic wash over him as the police cruiser approached the convenience store. This was absolutely the last thing he needed in his life. He was supposed to start college in four days, and he knew it would be pretty hard to do that from jail. His brothers were living proof of this. He really should have cut ties with Namir a long time ago.

Before he even realized what was happening, he was charging towards the counter. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He saw Namir turn around, ready to make an escape. Then he saw his fist dead center in Namir’s face.

He heard a heavy thud as Namir hit the floor after the punch. At that moment, time sped up again.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Namir shouted. His hand was covering his face. Hot, thick blood was pouring between his fingers. The shock of the punch caused him to drop the bag he had put the money in. Wadded up bills were strewn across the floor. As he started to lift himself off the ground, he saw two police officers walk through the door.

The clerk looked completely shell shocked. Gerald could hardly blame her. He didn’t know what to say, since he was part of why she was in this mess. “Um, are you, uh, okay?” That was the best he could muster, apparently. She replied with a puzzled look and a thousand yard stare in his general direction. She finally broke her silence as she saw the cops walk into the store.

“OH THANK GOD” she exclaimed.

The male cop called for back up on his CB, while the female cop asked the clerk what had happened. The clerk explained that Namir had come in and attempted to rob the place. Gerald had stopped him from escaping. Namir cussed and threatened Gerald as the police escorted him into their vehicle.

As the police car drove off, the clerk thanked Gerald. He sheepishly muttered “you’re welcome” as he walked out the door. He unwrapped a piece of gum and shoved it into his mouth. He couldn’t believe that his plan worked. Well, mostly. He was still too shy to ask the clerk for her phone number. Still, if he could finish both packs of gum today, there was always tomorrow.

K: The narration felt a little off here…it was infinitive to a degree that Brooks’s wasn’t in the original story. I also found it tough to buy a total transformation in Gerald, who’s too sheepish to ask the clerk out but is still smitten with her to the point that he suddenly rats out a friend(?) in the most complete fashion possible. This wraps up a little too nicely…Namir certainly would have returned the favor and talked about Gerald’s involvement, right? 2

DK: For a challenge like this (which, if I don’t remember to say it again here, is clearly very tough), there are aspects that I usually appreciate that don’t always work as well when they’re following another piece. Here, the characterization in the early part of this piece feels a little unnecessary and incongruous with the way the original piece was set up. Otherwise, it’s a solid conclusion to the original. 3

David Larson, SPOILER ALERT!

(Daneeka’s Ghost conclusion)

Gerald semi-crouched where he had been standing, frozen in place as the squad car raced forward. It came to a halt with a screech in the open parking spots before the front entrance. Both car doors flung open and the officers took up position behind each door, their revolvers drawn and pointed, and one with the radio mic in his other hand.

“The building is surrounded! No one needs to get hurt – just put down your weapon and come to the door with your hands over your head!”

He could just make out Namir through the front windows, glancing furtively around him, and without seeing an exit available to him, slowly raised his hands above his head. Gerald knew Namir had no weapon anyway.

As the officer on the passenger side moved forward, his raised gun signaling to Namir to lie on the ground, the other office turned his attention, and gun, in Gerald’s direction. Gerald had already sunk to his knees with his hands behind his head, though, just as a second police car pulled to a stop right in front of him.

While being led away to the newly-arrived police car, hands cuffed behind his back, Gerald overheard the lady’s excited voice. “Thanks for coming so quickly! I took your advice about suspicious repeat purchases and called right away. I didn’t even have the phone hung up before that one over there ran in!”

Jotting in a notepad, the officer in charge replied, “Well, more often than not when a guy comes in multiple times like that, he’s casing the joint. You did right to call us.”

Gerald glanced up in the lady’s direction as his head was being forced into the waiting car. “That’s not the only reason,” he mumbled, as the pack of wintergreen gum fell onto the car seat. “That’s not the only reason…”

K: Alright, this is beauty right here. The story knocks down some pins that Brooks may not even realize he set up, and it’s Gerald, not Namir, who got them caught in the end. This pays off the complexity of Gerald’s “relationship” with the clerk in a realistic way, creates excellent foreshadowing and reads as if it’s from the same author. Excellent. 5

DK: I like to see usage of details from the original, or the lack of details, as in this case, the (possibility) that Namir lacks a weapon. 4

John Wreisner, nibbish and his Vogons

Paying off Beau’s.

His father only called him Edward when his intent was truly malicious. The word, his own name, for Christ’s sake, he thought, even sounded malignant. Ironically, his father only worked himself into a towering rage over small slights. When he was feeling truly insidious, he was as calm as an insurance salesman discussing premiums. Upstairs, he could hear his father talking in a low monotone, punctuated by the muffled sobs of his mother, prostrate on the bed, blood trickling from her left ear. “EDWARD.” It was shouted, but without inflection, leaving his name to hang in the air like a sort of accusation. He took the length of garden hose off the hook in the wall (the sick son of a bitch had a hook for the thing like it was an ordinary tool, he thought) and, almost without thinking, slipped the pistol into his waistband. He was small for a ten year old, and the gun hung heavy in his pants, pulling them down and forcing him to adopt an awkward gait. He could hear the wet, slapping noises, like someone angrily forming hamburger patties, coming from the top of the stairs, which he bounded up two at a time, the gun hammering into the small of his back with each step. Rounding the corner into the bedroom, he saw his mother bent over the hope chest, her nightgown hitched up just over her waist. Her hips were turning a most unnatural shade of purple and his father had loosened his tie, the veins in his neck standing out like rope. “Now you. Pants down. Right next to…her.” He smiled slightly at this, a predatory, sideways grin, saliva gathering in foamy triangles in the corners of his lupine mouth. Fading light slanted through the window, broadcasting a neat square that framed the floor where his father stood, wingtips burnished in bronze light. The gun pressed into his sacrum, alive with an energy all it’s own. “And hand me that fucking hose.” His father held his hand out, the knuckles covered in blood. Edward took three steps forward, the hose in an extended, trembling hand. In one smooth motion, he passed off the hose and simultaneously drew the pistol from his waist- band. His father had enough time to form a perfect “O’ with his mouth as Edward placed the gun under his own chin and pulled the trigger.

K: Holy fuck. This one grows in tension just as it should, and has a shocker of an ending that still doesn’t feel out of place. The only fault I find with it is the single long paragraph. Why, oh why the single long paragraph? I want to give this the full monty it deserves! 4

DK: This is a problem I have with my own writing, but of the Beau payoffs, this one feels the least like the same Eddie internal “voice”, and a little less like an eleven year old than the others. That hamburger metaphor really got me, though. 4

Bret Highum, I’m With Stupid

(paying off Brooks)

Goddamn cops were early again. Detective Martin knew they were supposed to hang out nearby and wait for the call to come through from dispatch, but he was so damn eager to get his hands on the cash he just never could chill a couple blocks over.

“Gerald, get in here!” demanded Namir, threatening the lady with his bad-ass FN 57. Gerald slowly re-entered the store, his face flushing at the glare he was sure the lady was giving him, even though he didn’t look at her to confirm it. Gerald felt foolish pulling his little chromed .380 on her, but this was how they handled the stores that didn’t kick a little protection money back to the Detective. Him and Namir busted in, yelled and bullied the cashier, and hid the stolen loot somewhere in the store for the Detective to pick up as he and his partner “investigated” the robbery. Next time, the store usually paid without question.

Namir slid his bony butt out from behind the counter, heading to the bathroom to tuck the cash in the sealed plastic bag down into the toilet tank. Gerald stole another glance out the window, seeing the black-and-white pulled over to the curb while the driver pretended to run some plates on a couple of cars. When he turned back, the lady was pointing a shotgun at his belly. He quickly tossed his pistol away and stood stock still with his hands high.

“I’ll give you a choice,” she said, “Either lay down and the floor and wait for the cops to get here, or run for it and I blow a hole through you.” Gerald heard Namir take off out the back door.

Gerald lay down, his cheek on the cool tiles. He knew the cops were going to be pissed that he’d gotten caught and scared that he would rat them out. The smart play for Detective Martin would be to off Gerald on the way to the precinct. Shit, he should’ve listened to his gut when it told him this was the wrong place to choose. As the cashier went past him to the door to wave the cops over, he spotted an intricate tattoo of a snarling tiger that covered most of the calf of her smooth brown leg.

He made it three steps towards the back door before the shotgun roared.

K: I like what we have here, as far as story is concerned, but the narration feels off again. It’s vulgar and crude, as if Quentin Tarantino was asked to do an episode of a children’s action show (I’m taking it to extremes, but you can see what I mean). A more consistent tone with the source material could have really worked for this one, but I felt jarred from the story that I was invested in a little bit. 3

DK: I think I like this choice of direction the best, and the use of the bathroom is a nice payoff to that detail, as well. 4

Colin Woolston, SPOILER ALERT!

(paying off Will)

Steak knives, Dave thought to himself, and took a breath. As he exhaled he realized his breath smelled of half digested oatmeal and decaffeinated tea He pulled his breath spray from his breast pocket and put the car in park. He took a moment to try to gather himself, looking around at the condos, high rise apartments and restaurants that surrounded Grant Park. While getting off of Congress Parkway, Dave had come close to having an accident He had been to this area many times and wasn’t paying attention. When he got to the bottom of the ramp, a homeless black man was standing in the middle of the road with one arm raised, giving all of the world the middle finger. Dave had seen him at the last possible second and veered to the right, narrowly missing the light pole. He hadn’t even stopped after that, just had kept on driving. It wasn’t until he had parked on 11th that he had fully realized what had happened. This felt different. His heart was beating, and fast. He sprayed breath freshener into his mouth and actually enjoyed the tingling cinnamon taste of it.
Dave got out of his car and looked up at the building that housed the condo he was preparing to not sell. His failures were becoming familiar, comforting. He started running through all the pre-sale routines he had learned and created over the years, completely on auto-pilot. As he walked up to the entrance to the building Dave caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. He was smiling. This was cause to re-assess. What had changed? He stared at himself and ran through the routines again. He thought of the morning so far, and when his mind reached the near accident, he saw himself smile. Dave realized he was happy to be alive.
When Dave walked into the condo, the smile on his face and the confidence in his walk reflected in the faces of the potential buyers, and he remembered the feeling of knowing a sale was about to close.
He remembered the feeling of winning.
***
Dave sat at his desk in his new office. Ricky’s corner office. His cell rang and saw Katie’s number on the caller ID. He paused for a moment and then answered.
“Dave, my mom’s dead. I don’t know what to do.”

This was going to be a good year.

K: This is a lot like Will’s setup for me in that it really gets moving slowly, but the more time I spend with Dave, the more he fascinates me. This story is Glengarry Glen Ross except not written in Mamet’s style (which is great, because I love Mamet, but his stuff reads slowly on the page). I’m torn between citing this for its slowness and rewarding it for feeling like a true continuation. I’ll split the difference. 4

DK: Some good usage of details again to maintain the setting here, although the sharp turn into fantastic fortune feels a little inconsistent with the tone of the setup. It’s still relatively satisfying for me, though. 4

Dean Carlson, SPOILER ALERT!

(paying off David)

Hummels

Dieter Kraus was jubilant. Not so much for winning the prized Hitler Hummels but more for the fact that he won them with the high bid – exactly the amount he was authorized to spend – and without the need for any dirty business. Some woman was sobbing and pulling at his arm but another man quietly ushered her away into the dissipating crowd. Kraus was so exultant that he let his guard down and started to think about his big payday not realizing that he was about to come face-to-face with the one person he didn’t want to see.

Kraus‘ mind went into overdrive at first site of his nemesis and soon the beads of hot sweat running down his face were collecting on his chin like the blasted remains of a T-1000. Krauss was mentally kicking himself for not anticipating that taking part in the police auction wasn’t exactly the strategy this one foe would take. No, the indirectly direct route was more his modus operandi. Kraus was looking for a way to blend into the crowd filing out of the room when he was deftly grabbed with firm hands and urgently pushed toward a side door. “Lass uns gehen. Ruhig oder ich, dass Mauser in den Arsch schieben und abdrücken.”1 Kraus felt his own snub nose pressed against his kugeln as he headed through the door into the back alley.

Kraus smiled, “Robertson, was ist los?” Detective Robertson couldn’t believe his luck. Finally after years of planning he was about to possess the precious Hitler Hummels. God he hated taking advantage of that Stimssen girl but he was a police officer and he couldn’t just go in and steal the Hummels from the house. No they were too valuable and too many people were watching. He had to extract them from the house in a “drug bust” and take his chances with the lowlifes that would surely come out of the woods for the police auction.

“Just give me the package Kraus and no one gets hurt, heck I’ll even make sure you get your $2,225 back.” Robertson shoved the Mauser a little harder into Kraus‘ groin to make sure it was understood he meant business. “Sure Robertson you win, here you go.” Kraus pulls the package from his field coat and just as he was about to hand them over a small tiny voice from behind calls out: 非常感謝你，我帶你去那些.2 It was Cherilynn Lei and two huge Chinese bodyguards, both of whom were aiming QBZ-95s at Kraus and Robinson. “You win this one, Lei, but this isn’t over, not by a long shot” yelled Robertson as Lei’s car careened out of the alley.

1 Let’s go. Quiet now or I’ll shove that Mauser up your ass and pull the trigger
2 Thank you very much, I’ll take those now.

K: The story brings everyone back, but the evil turn of Detective Robertson doesn’t feel honest to me given the setup that David created. Also, I think the flow would have worked better if the narration had told me what the German and Chinese characters were saying rather than utilizing footnotes. 2

DK: I like this idea a lot; it’s one of the more unexpected directions for this story to go in, I would think. However, it feels a little too rushed to really sell the payoff and the multiple twists for me. 3

Matt Novak, nibbish and his Vogons

(paying off Beau)

Reaching the top of the stairs, Eddie could hear his mother’s whimpers. The room was a mess, as his father emptied a dresser, dumping its contents – entire drawers, clothes, the jewelry he used for apologies – searching for some unknown item Eddie could only guess at. His mother had crawled to a corner where she sat, curled, crying.

Eddie stood in the doorway, frozen, each hand holding firm on an object. His father’s back was turned to him, and only now did he hear his words, calculated and aggressive. He wasn’t shouting, but Eddie wished he was.
“You are a worthless bitch,” he said to his mother, “It’s your fault. It’s your fault we have a retard son.” His mother did not respond. Eddie dropped the hose on the ground, and swung his other hand behind his back, as his father quickly turned to look at him.

“Pick it up and bring it to me.”
Eddie didn’t move.
“Dammit Edward, I said bring me the hose, not throw it on the floor.” An anger began to crack through in his father’s voice. Eddie knew how to provoke his father. It was the only thing he’d ever been able to do for his mother. Now, Eddie stood still, testing his father’s façade.
“Pick up the hose Edward.”
“No.” Eddie didn’t mean it to be a whisper. His mother untucked her head and looked up, aghast, tears staining her face. His father stopped all movement and stared at the boy, weighing the word. He didn’t seem to notice the hand behind Eddie’s back.
“No.” Eddie repeated the word, still a whisper.
His father’s face grew red, and his eyes narrowed. The scales had tipped. Now he shouted. “You pick up that fucking hose right now Edward!”
Eddie stood still.
“Right! Fucking! Now!”
“Eddie, please,” his mom begged.
Confused, Eddie looked to his mother. Didn’t she know this was for her?
Eddie turned back as his father came towards him, eyes on fire, fist raised. “You little shit!”
The air in the room thickened with the sawdust-smell of rage, time slowed, and Eddie pulled his right arm from behind his back.
“I hate you.”
The gun lifted.
“Eddie no!” his mother screamed.
His father froze, a plaintive “Fuck,” escaping his lips.
Eddie pulled the trigger.

Click.

K: It’s tense, it’s consistent with the original, and it even sticks in another heartbreaker of a line (“the jewelry he uses for apologies”). In the end, we get yet another cliffhanger of a kind, which is precisely what I was hoping to see. The situation is direr than ever, and I’m dying to see where it goes yet again. 5

DK: I think this one nails the Eddie from the first story, and the direction it goes in, while not the most surprising, is one of the most effective because the writing sells the buildup and the tension. 5

Andy Rustleund, I’m With Stupid

Finishing Beau’s

This was never going to stop. Not unless he stopped it.

Sometimes, late at night when his mother was asleep and his father was out late again, Eddie would sneak down to the garage and hold his father’s gun, thinking about how he would do it. He could hold the gun easily enough, aim it, and even load it. Only one last thing to try.

“Edward, Goddamn it! If I have to come down there…” his father screamed.

Don’t worry, dad, I’ll be right up, thought Eddie as he reached the top of the stairs.

The look of surprise on his father’s face was more than Eddie could have hoped for, and for a moment, he thought maybe that would be enough. But then, his father’s face twisted into a hideous smile.

Eddie closed his eyes and squeezed. Click.

“You little shit. You don’t actually think I’m stupid enough to keep it loaded, do you?” his father sneered.

Eddie bolted back through the doorway, almost falling down the stairs, cursing himself for his mistake. Now he would have to make his stand in the basement, in the corner of the laundry room where he had stashed a box of ammo to practice loading. Hopefully his father would head for the garage, giving Eddie the time he needed.

As he was halfway through loading the magazine, Eddie heard a loud metal crash and a scream come from upstairs, and then silence. Oh God, if he did something to her…

The white wicker laundry basket acted as both cover and a platform from which to shoot. Eddie waited, tensed, the gun pointed at the door. There was no time to think about right and wrong, the consequences. After today, one way or another, Eddie knew he wouldn’t have to see his father again.

A groan from the second to last step told Eddie this was it. At the first sign of movement in the doorway…

A flash of light. A pop, quieter than he expected.

“Mom?”

K: This one has the elements that the last one had – another cliffhanger (of a kind), the tension and more heartbreak. Good job, Beau and friends. 4

DK: Phew, another good set of twists and action that builds up intensely while maintaining continuity of the characters. Everybody thank Beau for providing a great piece to work off of. 5

Brooks Maki, nibbish and his Vogons

Using Zack’s story as a jumping off point.

————–

“Have you seen anything?” James whispered to his wife.

“Mmph gmmph prmmbph.”

Oh right. James thought, she’s not really in a position to observe much of anything. He took up his position behind her again and slapped her on the ass distractedly, trying to surreptitiously scan the room of naked swingers.

“Stop right there, asshole.” The first man had said, and, frozen in panic, James had stopped. He tried for nonchalance. “I must have the wrong address, is this the swingers event?”

“Just you?” the first man barked the question. The second man had started to move toward the car. “Go Brenda, go. Just go.” James thought fiercely. Telepathy seemed like a long shot, but it was all he had. The car lurched into gear, but the man advancing on her shot out the front tires with frightening precision.

James mind reeled even now at the insanity of the situation. He was fulfilling a lifelong fantasy with his gorgeous wife, and he couldn’t enjoy it. Instead, he had to focus on identifying everyone in the room. If he stretched for positives, at least the faces he was attempting to identify were really helping his endurance.

The men around the table of guns (police, it turned out) explained they need James and Brenda to go undercover at the real swingers party where Cornelius Grafton, the local bad guy (the one with the scar that James still hadn’t seen on anyone in the room), was known to brag to his poly partners about his various criminal exploits.

“There he is!” James tapped Brenda on the shoulder, and they disengaged from their current partner and made their way over toward the closest thing to a crime boss this little town could support.

“Why would you rely on people answering an ad for this? Don’t you have trained undercover agents or something?” The men around the table had glanced at each other uncomfortably, then changed the subject to the wire that Brenda would entwine in her hair to record the incriminating conversation. James tried to volunteer himself for that, but the men just waved him away.

He hadn’t got to enjoy their first threesome of the night, and as Cornelius’ fingers tangled in his hair, he was pretty sure we wasn’t going to enjoy this one either.

“You seem like a bad boy” cooed Brenda, trying to coax a confession that would at least get them a ride home from the police once all this was over.

“Mmph gmmph prmmbph.” said James.

K: As preposterous as I found the setup to this one, what with James falling for this industrial warehouse thing, this still was too unbelievable. It didn’t seem to gibe with what I knew of the setup, and the writing sort of killed itself, as the important things – like “cops, as it turned out” – were parentheticals and treated as an afterthought when these revelations needed to be the main course. 2

DK: This is an interesting direction, although as it plays out it’s a little hard to buy into. The switches between flashback and the present moment are somewhat jarring, too. 3

Will Young, I’m With Stupid

Following Colin’s story:

He awoke to the rhythmic sound of electronic beeps. He felt a pinch on the index finger of his right hand. As he opened his eyes, his vision was blurry as he saw a bright, unfamiliar room. Spencer reached to rub his left eye to shake out the cobwebs. When his fingers touched his cheek, he felt a sharp pain. His cheek burned and his fingers detected something crusty matted within the unkempt hair above his lip.

Spencer grunted and sat upright. He focused the vision in his right eye. He scanned his surroundings and discovered he was in a much bigger room than he initially realized. Curtain rods with white sheets surrounded the area in which he was lying, but above the rods he observed that the room stretched farther than he could see. More importantly, the room had a ceiling. He heard muffled voices somewhere behind him. Looking down, he saw the tattered jeans and worn sneakers he had been wearing for nearly a year.

Spencer dug his hands into his empty pockets and understood he likely had not been caught trying to shoplift food again. Because he had not stolen, Spencer knew he was probably not inside the police station waiting to be booked. Spencer was even more perplexed because the holding cell was the roofed room in which he spent the most time. Clearly, he was not in a mall either. In malls, Spencer could glare at the materialistic consumers grappling with such trivial choices about which shoes to purchase or whether to have a burrito or sushi for lunch. Despite the numerous drawbacks, malls and police stations had two overwhelmingly positive reasons to visit: a roof and the opportunity to eat.

Suddenly, someone pulled the curtain open. Spencer stared at the woman dressed entirely in blue and holding a clipboard.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

Spencer decided to remain silent. After all, he had no reason to quickly leave this room featuring both a ceiling and heat.

“Well, we’ve done all we can for your eye and bloody nose,” she said as she tired of waiting for an answer. “The police will be taking you shortly.”

Spencer smiled. He still could not remember why he was in this room, but he resolved to comb his memories to alternative way to food and warmth that lasted longer than merely shoplifting.

K: We get a touch of Spencer’s paranoia here, but probably not enough, and his surroundings seemed pretty obvious to me. I like everything here just fine, but it seems like Spencer was destined for a bigger moment than this. It also lacks Colin’s flowery language from the setup. 3

DK: I think it feels consistent with the character established in the original, although some of the descriptive punch of that one is not as present here. 4

Peter Bruzek, nibbish and his Vogons

(paying off Matt)

The battle raged on, but it quickly became apparent that it was a battle that the crew couldn’t hope to win. They fought valiantly, but were eventually boarded. Pirates poured onto the main deck and began to round up the survivors. Edward and James O’Leary were prodded below deck to show the pirates what the ship had to offer. One of the pirates was getting much too close to a door that Edward needed to keep him away from at all costs.

The marauder lingered for a moment near the door to Rashmi’s cabin. Another couple of seconds, and he would surely find her – Edward’s imagination recoiled at what would happen then. Edward had to act quickly. Bravery was going to have to come in an unorthodox manner.

“We’re carrying a supplies for the new colony!”

“Edward, no…” moaned First Mate O’Leary, but it was too late. The pirate moved away from the cabin door. Edward needed to keep him moving further. He shot O’Leary an apologizing glance.

“There’s plenty of food and fresh water to supply a ship like yours for at least three months.”

The man started toward him cautiously. “Why would ye be assisting us?” he motioned his sword toward Edward “what be in it for ye?”

Suddenly a booming voice came from the top of the stairs. “What, indeed?” as the pirate captain smirked down at them all, captives and pirates alike. “Still, if the boy be telling the truth…”

Edward led the pirates to the supplies. The pirate captain nodded approvingly. “It took minerals to give up yer cargo like that to save yer crew, especially when they’ll hate ye for it,” he said, “I’ve a proposition for ye.”

“Go on.” Edward said, eying him warily.

“I’ll turn a blind eye to whatever or whomever else might be aboard yer vessel on one condition. You come aboard my ship and live the life of a buccaneer.”

Edward startled – God, no… “And if I refuse?”

“My crew are quite thorough about tearing a ship and her crew apart to find what might be hidden.”

Edward thought of Rashmi’s kiss. Then he thought of her final words to him.

“…be waiting… you are the one to be brave”.

He made his choice, Edward the deck hand was gone. He would begin his life anew as a pirate. For Rashmi.

K: The ending lines felt a little hammy to me, and the dialogue is a little…obvious, but this story does have the excitement and scope of the lead-in. Once again, I want to see what happens beyond this installment. 4

DK: A logical direction for this story to end up going in, although the way it gets there (i.e. the content of dialogue of the pirates) feels a little perfunctory and (sorry Colin) on-the-nose. 3

Beau, nibbish and his Vogons

(paying off Andy)

“You have?” asked Earl, confused. Mr. Porosus beckoned with his hand. Earl walked up, pensive.
“Indeed, son. I hear you’ve been asking questions about our history. I’m always pleased when a young citizen shows interest.”
Earl relaxed a bit. “What are you reading?” His eyes widened as Mr. Porosus stepped aside.
“This,” Mr. Porosus said proudly, “is the entire history of Crocville. Quite fascinating, really. Did you realize our town’s founder was just four years old when he settled here?”
“Wow, really?”
“And that’s not it. It says he promised that nobody in Crocville would ever be lonely or hungry.”
“Cool.” He glossed over the open page detailing Crocville’s first organized baseball team. “What was his name?”
“Bobby Dunbar” said Mr. Porosus. “Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute. Go ahead, take a look-see. I’ll show you more when I return.”
“Yeah, okay” Earl whispered, hopping on the stool. Excited to learn more about Bobby, he flipped the book closed. On the edge of the stool, Earl opened to page one, which was blank. Turning another page, he found the next one blank as well. Then another. And another.
Turning more rapidly, Earl saw only white. Placing his index finger where he felt Mr. Porosus was reading, he skipped ahead several hundred pages. More white. Hands shaking, he flipped back the final pages, reaching the last one. It was not blank. Two words stared up at Earl. His breath caught.
“Like what you found?” said the now ominous voice of Mr. Porosus. He placed a hand on Earl’s neck.
His touch was ice. “What the…” was all Earl could mutter before feeling a swift pain shoot through his spine.
************************
Martin followed Earl to the library, hoping to make fun of his friend, the nerd. From behind the stacks, he watched his friend turning pages frantically. Then, a gangly man came by and appeared to calm Earl down.
Shortly, the man left the library. Martin walked towards his friend.
“Hey Earl!”
“Oh, hi Martin.” Earl yawned. “What’s up?”
“Dude, you looked scared for a minute. The book… is something strange in there?”
“Oh, that? Just some history stuff. Like you said, who gives a crap? See you at practice later?” Not waiting for an answer, Earl walked past Martin and out the library.
Nerd, Martin thought. Before leaving, he walked over to the tome and read two words:
THE END

K: Mr. or Mrs. Survivor, you are trying my patience by asking me to like a meta story. However, I have to admit it’s working. Andy set up an excellent eerie tone here, and this story pays it off in a way that’s true to the tone and not in any way obvious. As Earl flipped through the book, I found myself anxious. Well done. 5

DK: Again, not as surprising a direction as some, but I think it pays off that direction really well, and it hits the mark on Porosus’s change effectively. 5

JG Berwald, nibbish and his Vogons

This is the finish to Zack’s story from last week.
Happy new year and all that jazz.

At first James was confused, because the command had come from behind him. As he put up his hands and slowly turned the wheels in his head, it became obvious to him that the voice was that of his wife’s, though now he detected a russian accent.
“Turn around.” the once soft silky voice said.
James turned around to see his wife, still in her skirt, pointing a very large gun at his head. He knew the jig was up, the tightening in his chest relaxed. It was almost freeing to know he wouldn’t have to sneak around. False identities were a bitch, and having been found out as last, he would no longer have to lie to the people he was close to. Though, he admitted to himself, he never expected the end would come from that person he trusted more than anyone.
“Ten years is a long con dearest, did you fall for the strapping American agent along the way?” It had been ten years, but he still could put swagger into his quips.
“Please!” she spat, “You think all the kinky sex and bandage games were to keep you happy? It was the only way I could complete my mission without hanging myself. For a top-secret CIA agent, you are one boring fuck darling. I almost wish this had been a real threesome- I could have shown you what I could do with a real man at the helm.”
Maybe being told he didn’t have the sexual prowess the he thought he did it was set him off, or maybe it was the giant phallus pointed between his eyes that reminded him of his inadequacy. Whatever it was, it made all his training come back like a thunderclap in his head. In one move he lunged forward, wrestled the gun away from her, whipped her body around, held her in front of him as a human shield, and shoved the barrel into her temple.
The room reacted, James held her tighter and told them not to move, or their bitch wouldn’t be giving them anymore upskirt shows.
She laughed. “Oh, honey, you’re always so rough with me.”
“Shut up woman. Don’t think I can’t shoot you. There’s no safe word this time.”
He drug her outside to the car and shoved her against the hood.
“One last time lover?” She laughed again.
“I just want to make you happy my sweet. You said you wanted to go someplace warmer.”
James aimed his gun and fired. He left his ex-wife’s body on the ground as he sped to off to his old life.

K: This story’s ridiculous payoff actually feels in tune with the original, with the silly plotlines ripped from “24” (which I loved despite its constant idiocy). Unfortunately, I had to clean up a lot of typos that killed the impact dead, and the idea that both husband and wife could sever so easily, without a hint of emotion, didn’t work for me. On the other hand, the phallus line pulls it up a touch. 3

DK: I like where this goes and I mostly like how it gets there, but my favorite parts are James’ internal voice. It takes a fucked up dude to still be conceptualizing a gun pointed right between his eyes as a dick. 4

Shawn Ashley, SPOILER ALERT!

(paying off John)

I heard gasps from the crowd, yet I was unable to take my shaking hands from my eyes. Behind my lids I saw a multitude of visions of what could be up on stage. I even tried to believe I didn’t see what I thought I did.
I lowered my hands.
There, on stage, not ten feet from me, was a thing so unbelievable, so un-human… My whole body clenched remembering the first time Father made me watch him kill a pig. The heat through my veins, sickness in my stomach, bile in my throat.
The bottom half of it was definitely a goat, but the top half could only be described as a man. Somewhat. Bulbous eyes, oversized nose, disfigured lips that appeared as if they were smiling. Its arms were long, gangly, hanging almost to its knees.
A goat man.
Goatman’s act came to a close; I felt as if I were being drawn him. As the barker once again took center stage, I made my way towards Goatman.
He was being shuffled away by one of the oversized men that guarded the stage. The kind of man that you don’t dare get out of line in front of.
I followed them, acutely aware of Goatman’s hooves and their sounds on the pathway. They entered a tent behind the main one and I knew I shouldn’t follow, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I snuck to the opening of the tent and held it open enough to see through a tiny slit in the fabric, my shaking hands soaked from sweat.
Three men were holding Goatman down onto a table; if he were struggling to get free I couldn’t see. I watched as they hooked clamps up to various parts of his body. Head, chest, arms, his penis…all the “human” parts of him.
Then one man went to the box the clamps were connected to and he loudly flipped a switch.
I watched as Goatman tensed and shook as electricity coursed through his entire body. Convulsing, spasm-ing. Like what I overheard Sheriff telling Father about putting someone in the electric chair.
The men were laughing, watching him shake. The same man who turned the machine on turned a knob and Goatman’s body shook even more.
Goatman turned his head and those sad, freakish, bulbous eyes looked right at me.
I gasped.
Someone grabbed my shoulder and I screamed…

K: Once again, I appreciate the fact that someone created another cliffhanger, even while paying off the story (that wasn’t really a cliffhanger, but I digress). John’s language is hard to match so I’m not surprised that nobody else attempted it. I do think his tone was captured here, even if his language wasn’t. It’s dark and sad but too fascinating to turn away from, which is everything I get from John when I read him. 4

Also, I’m digressing here, but I think I should have given John a 4 last week. It wasn’t a true cliffhanger and I see what I was saying about the dialogue being hidden from the reader, but that piece is goddamned beautiful.

DK: I think this one does a pretty good job of maintaining the feel of the first one, although of any of them (even the other ones that left the ending somewhat hanging) this is the one that most irritates me that it ends on another cliffhanger. That’s not something I consider a true fault (although maybe I should be…) 4

—–

Alright, here we go: scores that actually affect the game:

SPOILER ALERT!: 4/2.5/4.5/4 = 15/4 = 3.75
nibbish and his Vogons: 3.5/3.5/2.5/5/2.5/5/4 = 26/7 = 3.71
I’m With Stupid: 3.5/4.5/3.5 = 11.5/3 = 3.83

Did I mention we have a game, folks? Yes?

Ho-lee shit. I don’t remember three teams being this close, like, ever.

I’m With Stupid get their first taste of victory, and nibbish and his Vogons, despite being within 0.12 of the winners, suddenly have to vote someone out for real.

They have until Tuesday at noon Central to do so, and I don’t know what the hell they’re going to do. I know we’ve got a game, though.

Wow. Cheers, Survivors.